Smutty Sundays
by MissBegottenLit
Summary: A collection of Stony smut one-shots, updated weekly. Purely PWP.
1. Sex Hair

Sex Hair

Tony liked to keep his hair neat.

Well, maybe "neat" was the wrong word. He didn't keep it slick and combed like Steve did with all his 1940's etiquette. But he didn't keep it flowing and loose and free like Thor, either. Try as he might, he just couldn't pull off the Disney Princess look quite like the God of Thunder could.

But that didn't mean he couldn't look like a suave, badass, hot mess. That was, of course, exactly the sort of look he went for and took great pains to pull off, and the centerpiece of that look was his hair. He would smudge oil and grease on his face, singe his eyebrows, ruin his clothes, but once he got his hair coiffed and styled the way he wanted it, he never mussed it up. Call it an old man's vanity. It was more than that though; it was something of a metaphor-something he'd kept going for years, ever since he'd had that odd, bordering-on-civil conversation with his father.

"Why do your socks never match?" he'd asked.

"I'm too busy to waste time matching socks," Howard had said, and wow, wasn't that the way of it? Of course he hadn't had time to match his damn socks. He hadn't even had time to hug his son. But then Howard had stopped doing whatever he had been doing, filling out papers, or reading a book, or looking over schematics. He'd looked at Tony over the top of his reading glasses and said, "It's silly, but I suppose it's a bit of a metaphor. The world wants to control everything about us-down to what kind of socks we wear. It's easier to follow the rules, but people like you and me chafe at rules and authority, so I wear mismatched socks. It's a tiny, pitiful rebellion, Tony. Nothing more."

Since then, he'd latched on to the idea of a metaphor, a silent _fuck you_ to the world and its rules, a clue he could leave out in plain sight to show anyone who bothered to pay attention what he was _really_ like. It was his hair. He knew he made it look effortless, the unruly, artfully tousled style he'd rocked for years. In reality, it took him the better part of half an hour and three different hair products to pull it off. But that's how it was with everything. Being a genius wasn't easy. There was next to no sleep, caffeine addictions, and more explosions than he thought entirely necessary, but he worked damn hard to make it _look_ easy. Being Iron Man wasn't easy, but if there was one thing the entire world was looking for, it was a chink in his armor, so he had to make it seem like being an Avenger was as easy as breathing.

He was so good at keeping this facade up, he thought sometimes that Howard would be proud. His metaphor was firmly in place, had been for years, and would be until the day he died, no matter what. Come hell or high water, alien invasion, A.I. apocalypse, or angry, Hulked-out Bruce Banner, he'd have his hair under control.

The one exception seemed to be sex.

"Where'd you go?" Steve said, breaking off their kiss and running his hands through Tony's hair until they cupped the back of his head.

He was thinking of his father while having a pre-sex make out session with Steve, and holy hell, that was… something. Probably not a metaphor. More like a psychoanalyst's wet dream. Whatever it was, it had successfully distracted him enough that he hadn't been giving the kiss the attention it deserved.

"Sorry," he breathed and leaned in to kiss his lips lightly before moving on to kiss and suck and nip at the sensitive skin of his neck.

Steve still had his shirt on, and that was annoying, but the paydirt was down below. He fumbled with Steve's belt as he paid special attention to the soft, sensitive spot where neck met shoulder. He finally undid the buckle and slid Steve's jeans and boxers down over his hips, going to his knees as he did so. Steve was hard already, his breaths coming in shaky gasps. Tony knew it was the sight of him on his knees that undid him so quickly, and he loved it, loved that he could submit like this but still be perfectly in control. That never seemed to work with anyone but Steve.

He ran his tongue down the long, hard shaft of Steve's cock before sucking one of his balls into his mouth. Steve bit back a groan and put a hand lightly on Tony's head, his fingers twining through his hair. He wanted Steve's fist to tighten in his hair like it would sometimes when Tony got him really hot and bothered. He wanted Steve to grab two fistfuls of hair and hold him still while he fucked his mouth.

Tony kept licking and teasing for a while, sucking at Steve's balls, licking up and down his cock, his tongue swirling around the tip once or twice, hinting at actually sucking it into his mouth. Eventually, the hand in his hair tightened, his scalp burned, and Steve groaned. "Quit teasing," he said, breathless, pulling off his shirt.

He pulled away long enough to smile up at him. "Make me."

And it was, of course, the perfect thing to say, because an instant later, Steve's hands caught a fistful of hair each and yanked, giving Tony no choice but to open wide, swallow his cock, and try not to choke. Steve fucked his mouth mercilessly, and Tony was unsure if this was some kind of retaliation for the teasing, or if Steve really was that far gone. Either way, Tony had to fight to breathe, and fight not to choke, and fight not to come. It was interesting how often sex with Steve felt like a battle. That one was probably a metaphor, but he'd have to think about it later. Right now he had Steve's cock sliding in and out of his mouth, leaking salty precome, Steve's hands tangled in his hair, gripping so tightly his scalp tingled and burned, and Steve's eyes on him, big and blue and reverent. It was almost enough to make him come untouched.

Suddenly, Steve pulled away. He hauled Tony up and all but threw him onto the bed. He whisked Tony's oil-stained Black Sabbath t-shirt off over his head and ran his hands down his chest, taking care to avoid the arc reactor. Anyone touching the little circle of light was a better boner-killer for Tony than just about anything. Steve wrested him out of his jeans, and Tony lifted his hips to help.

Steve stretched out on top of him, finally giving Tony the full body contact he'd been craving since he'd walked into the bedroom and shoved him up against the wall. He took a moment to kiss Tony's sore and abused mouth, to grind their hips together and make him moan embarrassingly loud before pulling away. Steve only went far enough to be able to grab his hips and flip him over onto his stomach, pulling him up so he rested on his knees and elbows.

Tony waited, anticipation growing and escaping in a shiver as Steve shifted behind him and fiddled with something he couldn't see. Then Steve's hands were on his ass, his slick, lubed-up fingers pressing at his hole until slipping in, stretching him, prepping him for the main event, and it was a big one. After a minute or two, the fingers disappeared. Steve pressed a hand to the small of Tony's back as his cock nudged at him.

"Oh, God," Tony breathed and pressed his face into the pillow as the head of Steve's cock breached him and started working its way inside slowly, because rough sex was one thing and pain was another. But Steve knew this, so he was slow and careful and attentive, and if it burned as Steve's cock slid in and filled him up, well then, it was a good kind of burn.

Steve grabbed a handful of hair and pulled Tony's head back until his neck stretched and it grew a tiny bit difficult to breathe. "No," Steve said, his voice rough, his breath warm in Tony's ear. "No 'God'. Only name you say in bed is mine, remember?"

Tony nodded and shivered because _fuck_ that was hot, and if anyone had ever told Tony how mind-blowingly sexy and dominant Captain America would be in bed, he would have found him in the ice years before SHIELD. He never would have stopped looking.

After a moment, Steve started moving again, slowly at first, but he worked his way up to a brutal, pounding pace. Soon the only sounds in the room were the wet slapping of flesh on flesh and the whispered, smothered swearing as they both tried to gain some semblance of control over themselves. It didn't take Tony long-with Steve's cock up his ass, it rarely did. He could feel the orgasm shivering and shocking its way up and down his limbs, electric, stronger than even the first surge he'd felt when Yinsen had helped him install the arc reactor. When he reached for his cock, Steve slapped his hand out of the way and did it for him. It only took a few strokes of Steve's hand before Tony came, biting back a shout of pleasure.

Steve kept fucking him, stretching out his aftershocks of pleasure even as his rhythm deteriorated and devolved into mindless rutting. He grabbed Tony's hair once again, and Tony was beginning to think he was sensing a kink here, when the hand tightened and Steve came with a moan.

Tony's strength finally gave out. He sagged down onto the rumpled comforter. Steve collapsed beside him, and they lay there like that for a long moment, a tangled pile of sticky, sweaty limbs.

"Jesus, Tony," Steve said after a while. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "Why do you do that to me?" Fucker had the audacity to sound winded.

"Do what?"

"Make me lose it like that."

Tony laughed. "What can I say? I need company here in Crazy Town."

Steve reached over and ran a gentle hand through Tony's sweaty, messy hair before pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

Metaphor be damned. Sex hair was great.

* * *

Ok, now that the actual story is out of the way: I got this little fic from this old prompt over on avengerkink: _Tony likes to keep his hair neat. Except when he's having really good sex, then he doesn't care if you yank it till it nearly comes out._ I've never really written much smut before. I hope you liked it!

I have this crazy long list of one-shots and prompts I would like to write, so the plan here is for me to post one smutty one-shot every Sunday, mostly because it sounds like a fun challenge. They'll be unconnected (probably) but will all be organized in one story for the sake my sanity. Odds are they'll all be Stony, but if another pairing grabs me by the throat and won't let go, I'll give it a shot!


	2. Say Something

Say Something

Sex for Steve had always been secret: a quick blowjob in the woods where it was so dark he couldn't even see Bucky's face, being bent over a rickety table in the little London room he'd rented for the night only to be interrupted by the blitz, a shaky handjob and desperate, hungry kisses in Italy fueled by relief more than need because he was _alive,_ and if HYRDA had killed him, Steve would have burnt them alive and pissed on the ashes...

...Grinding and kissing like teenagers in a closet at SHIELD, because experience told him that was what he did with mouthy, witty assholes who were too brave for their own good.

No matter the decade, sex was always hurried, frantic, and, above all things, quiet.

So if it felt good when Tony sucked his cock into his warm, wet mouth, he showed it by squeezing his eyes shut and biting his bottom lip.

Tony bobbed his head up and down, sucking and licking while Steve threaded his fingers through his hair and resisted the urge to grip harder or thrust up into his mouth. Tony kept it up for a while, using all of his prodigious skill to build Steve up and then back off the moment before orgasm, gripping the base of his cock tightly to keep him from coming.

The third time this happened, Steve panted and gritted his teeth, smothering his groan in its cradle. The wonderful feeling of Tony touching his cock disappeared almost immediately. "No, no, no," Tony said. "You're not getting away with that tonight. You're so quiet, sometimes I think I'm doing this all by myself. Tonight I want you to make some noise."

Steve just frowned, tangled his hands in the sheets, and didn't say a word.

Quiet was privacy and secrecy. Quiet was dignity. Quiet was survival.

Tony would never understand that, because he was never quiet. If Tony's life ever depended on him not having the last word in an argument, Steve was sure he would die. But it was more than that. He was sure their teammates' reactions would range from indifference to baking a celebratory cake, but some things-even good, healthy things- were private. The feeling of cool, soft sheets and warm, smooth skin, the blue-white glow of the arc reactor illuminating every touch… those things didn't belong to anyone else.

Almost as if he could read his mind, Tony said, "I don't need you to scream, Steve. I don't want to keep everyone else up all night, and if I wanted the others to know we were fucking I'd send them a candygram, but I'm not doing anything until you make some sort of noise." His fingers ran lightly up and down Steve's cock, teasing. "Tell me what you want."

Steve sighed, and, realizing he was never going to get Tony to let this go, he said, "I want you to kiss me."

Tony smiled and crawled up the bed. He pressed his lips to Steve's as he ground his hips down. Steve gasped at the feeling of their groins pressed and rubbed together. Taking advantage, Tony slipped his tongue into his mouth and kissed him like he meant it, all sliding tongue and biting teeth, until finally he pulled away and breathlessly said, "Clever, keeping your mouth busy like that, but you're not off the hook yet. What now?"

Steve shook his head.

"You're usually blue in the face from barking orders-"

"Why can't you ever stop talking?" Steve said, pulling him closer for another hard, hungry kiss.

"One of us has to-" Tony said after they broke apart.

"I want you to fuck me," Steve said, giving in.

"Mm," Tony agreed. "Slow and easy or hard and fast?"

Again, Steve just shook his head.

"You're not getting off that easy," Tony said, his hand slipping down between Steve's legs to play with what he found. "Tell me what you want."

He wanted to come. He wanted Tony to shut up for once. He wanted to forget about Bucky just long enough to enjoy and love the cocky, brilliant man in his bed the way he deserved to be enjoyed and loved. "I don't care," he said, his voice breaking.

Tony must have heard it because instead of pushing the issue further, he pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to Steve's lips and slipped a finger inside of him. "Bit of both then," he said. He made quick work of prepping Steve after that. Another finger joined the one already inside him, and once he was slick and ready, Tony sat back on his knees, Steve's legs spread on either side of him, the arc reactor casting strange, cold shadows on his face as he took his cock in hand and guided it into Steve's opening, working his way in slowly. Once he was all the way in, he leaned forward and kissed him again.

It was actually easier like this, Steve realized. Usually he liked it when Tony bent him over a table or took him on all fours on the bed or floor-and when the mood struck them, Steve gave as good as he got. But like this, on his back with Tony between his legs, and his open, loving face only inches from his own, it was easier to remember what decade he was in.

Steve needed all the help he could get in that department because as soon as Tony started moving inside him, his brain turned to mush. It was a slow, gentle ride at first. Tony would pull almost entirely out of him before sliding back in and filling him up. He continued this way for a while, pressing little kisses to Steve's mouth, licking and sucking at his tender neck.

And Steve decided he loved this easy pace, loved luxuriating in the feeling of Tony inside of him, loved seeing all the minute expressions on his face: a bloom of emotion, a scowl and a muttered curse, a flicker as his self-control nearly deteriorated entirely.

They maintained this slow slide for what felt like hours and no time at all. Tony would occasionally hit the tangle of white-hot nerves inside Steve and send waves of pleasure rolling through him, but Steve could tell he wasn't doing it on purpose. He was stretching this out, waiting for either his self-control to break or for Steve to finally make a sound. For a long while Steve had been determined not to lose, but one such wave of pleasure made him suck in a breath, wrap his legs around Tony, and pull him closer. "Harder," he said.

It was only one word, but the smirk on Tony's face said he knew he'd won. He snapped his hips forward and Steve let out a breathy little noise that was too quiet to be a groan. Tony did it again and again, pounding into him and setting a brutal pace. At one point he pried Steve's hands away from his shoulders so he could lean back, grip his hips and pull him back onto his cock over and over, angling his hips just right so that in a matter of seconds he had Steve panting and writhing on the bed, reaching for something to hold onto and finding nothing but the sheets.

Steve was half expecting Tony to demand he make some noise or say something before he would let him come, so he almost cried out in relief when he did no such thing. Tony merely wrapped a hand around his cock and started jerking him off in time with his heavy, pounding thrusts. When the orgasm built, Steve didn't fight it. Their couplings were usually, frantic, heated, bordering-on-violent. His climaxes even more so, whether it was Tony or Bucky in bed with him didn't seem to matter in that regard. But this one was a long, slow burn that spun on and on, and Tony continued to fuck him all the way through it.

Finally, when Steve was limp and exhausted, his lip sore and bloody from where he'd bit it to keep quiet, Tony came with a moan. It was a quiet moan that Steve knew only he could hear.

Still inside him, Tony leaned forward and kissed him again, gently, his ticking flicking at the swollen, sore spot where he'd bitten himself. "Why don't you ever make any noise?" he asked.

Steve shrugged the best he could with Tony still on top on him. "Just habit, I guess."

It was a cowardly lie. The truth was he was afraid he'd let something slip. He was afraid that here in the dark, with all their quiet lovemaking, that he'd say the wrong name.

* * *

So I've never really shipped Steve/Bucky before, but after writing this filthy thing, damn, I just might ship it now… Are there supposed to be feels in smut? #ihavenoideawhatimdoing

Anyway, this was the prompt (again from somewhere over on avengerkink): _Years of keeping quiet doing anything sexual have been ingrained into Steve. If he makes noise, it's through gritted teeth and barely heard. Same with swearing, all whispered. It freaks out Any, because they are doing some filthy nasty cum-wadded shit in bed. Does Any try to get Steve to raise the volume?_

I might have been a bit liberal in my interpretation, but meh. Hope you enjoyed it!


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